


Something New

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Vane gives his two cents, a revelation for them both, billy tries desparately to tell flint how he feels, flint is having none of it, one of my first BS stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 09:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5661823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something wrong, something right, something missing<br/>Something black, something light, something different<br/>Don't you ever feel you need to speak to me that way</p><p>~Sully Erna</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something New

Billy Bones fought hard. He’d proven himself to be an able-bodied fighter since becoming a pirate. He was physically robust and willing to learn what was taught to him. He’d become an expert at not only scaring the shit out of sailors on merchant ships but also in using his sword to hack his way through should anyone resist. In short he was as cold-blooded as they come when he needed to be. But that was work.  
Now, sitting under the canvas of a tent in the light of a fading Caribbean sun Billy fought hard to concentrate on writing the letter laid before him, his blood anything but cold as he considered the man to whom it was addressed. From just outside the tent he heard members of the other crews grow rowdy as they headed up the beach and towards the inns and brothel. He ignored their crude conversation and rough laughter as the quill pen in his hand scribbled out the word ‘James’ at the top of the paper, next to the already scribbled out ‘Captain’ and also ‘Flint.’  
With an aggravated huff Billy waded up the letter and tossed it to the sand. A few of his mates stuck their heads in under the canvas.  
“Hey Billy, stop nancying about and come join us. Some of the lads are going to have a fighting contest. We’re betting.”  
“Next time,” said Billy. “Got some personal matters to see to.”  
The men grumbled and waved him away, forgetting about him. Billy picked up another piece of parchment. He re-wrote much of what he’d written earlier, changing a few sentences here and there. He wasn’t an expert at writing and knew he was lucky to even be able to read. He had rudimentary writing skills before Captain Flint had taught him properly.  
He was nearly out of ink by the time he re-wrote ‘James’ once again at the top. It made him nervous to address the captain so informally. After their third time together Flint had told him gruffly not to call him James. Ever.  
He had been greatly affected by Miranda Barlow’s death in Charleston, there was no doubt. Billy had allowed him time to mourn, keeping his distance and operating strictly as the ship’s bosun during the journey back to New Providence and after as well. During that time Flint had remained even more aloof of the crew than usual, speaking only to either John Silver or Charles Vane for any length of time. He had looked tired to Billy, a kind of fatigue that was all in the mind and Billy yearned to comfort him. It wasn’t until nearly two weeks after they had arrived back in Nassau that Flint had come to him, yet the kind of comfort his captain was after wasn’t the same Billy wanted and they had simply fucked. Whatever Flint was feeling he kept it to himself.  
Now Billy stared at the name ‘James’ defiantly, once and for all deciding that too much existed between them for him to continue on with formalities.  
Flint had started out as an infatuation, as something Billy only needed to satiate his physical desire with on their longer voyages at sea. He and the captain had exchanged looks long before Flint had allowed Billy to approach him. Since then they’d carried on their physical activities in a strict, pleasure-only routine while sailing—no attachments, no cuddling or basking in the afterglow. However they had eventually started to see each other back on Nassau, and as far as Billy could tell neither one of them were seeing anyone else.  
Billy longed for more from Flint if he was honest with himself; it was just too damned stressful to keep pretending otherwise. Yet Flint still intimidated him. There was something buried deep inside of the man, something Billy sensed Flint absolutely did not want him to touch. There had been moments after their love making that borderline violated their agreement. Flint would give him the slightest of caresses on his arm, his check, or would linger in bed just a few seconds longer than what was necessary. As quickly as Billy had glimpsed this gentler behavior though, it would vanish just as fast and the bosun was left wondering if he’d glimpsed it at all. Still, Billy had to believe he had witnessed such things.  
Perhaps the most telling of his captain’s unknown turmoil was that Flint never allowed Billy to fuck Flint on his back. ‘We don’t need to gaze into each other’s eyes like we’re fucking married,’ had been his exact words. Billy could still remember how he’d gotten the distinct impression Flint was shielding himself with those words.  
Now, as Billy returned his attention to the letter, he hoped desperately that at least part of what Flint was concealing from him this entire time was his feelings for himself. What the exact nature of those feelings were, Billy dared not dwell upon. Certainly not love, at least not yet, but if his letter persuaded the captain to reveal some level of caring, some hope that their affair was more than just sex that would be enough.  
Billy carefully folded the letter and tucked it inside his shirt. It was completely dark now and Nassau was dotted with the glow of lantern and candlelight. He blew out the candles next to him and left the tent, travelling away from the beach and further inland. He felt downright stupid having to write a letter at all. Letter-writing was for women and girls, especially where feelings and emotions were concerned. Nevertheless the captain had forced his hand; approaching Captain Flint verbally with his concerns would probably have been suicide.  
The trek inland and to the path that led to Flint’s house didn’t take long. Billy saw Flint’s horse idling in the yard nearby. He walked up the porch and knocked on the door, his fingers moving to touch the bit of shirt the letter was tucked behind.  
The door opened and there stood Flint, dressed only in trousers and a light gray shirt. Two locks of his longish hair had escaped his tie and framed both sides of his face, which Billy had always loved. At the moment, however, the bosun felt a touch of fear as Flint’s expression changed from surprise to a scowl.  
“What’s wrong?” Flint asked.  
“N-nothing,” Billy stammered, quickly clearing his throat. “Nothing’s wrong. I just needed to talk.”  
Flint narrowed his eyes. “About what?”  
“Actually…”  
Billy figured it was best to just hand him the damn thing so he dug it out of his shirt and held it out to Flint.  
“It’s all in here.”  
Flint didn’t move to take the letter. He stood in the doorway, an arm stretched out across it, effectively blocking Billy off from inside. His sea green eyes travelled from the letter to Billy. Billy swallowed.  
“Please, just take it. I need you to know…how I feel.”  
He shouldn’t have said it. Flint rolled his eyes. “No, Billy. I don’t need to read it. Now get out of here.”  
Another important rule Billy had disregarded: never come to Flint’s private residence.  
Flint moved to close the door but his bosun stepped up and threw an arm up before it could shut.  
“Captain, please,” said Billy, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. Flint’s upper lips curled at him, a sure sign he was getting annoyed, yet he swung open the door and yanked Billy inside, shutting the door after a quick glance around his property.  
“I fucking told you not to come here. If anyone became suspicious—“  
“No one saw me,” said Billy.  
“Then what do you want?” Flint demanded, those sea-green eyes as enchanting yet cold as ever to Billy. He ached to look into them and see some sign of true warmth and not just desire.  
“I want you to read the letter. You’ll just get pissed if I tell you.”  
“I’ already pissed. If it’s supposed to be about how you want more out of this arrangement I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”  
“It’s about more than that, and if you didn’t always act like you were going to fucking explode the second I say something kind, I’d bloody tell you what’s in it!”  
Billy hadn’t meant to get angry yet he felt angry; this was blowing up in his face. Flint glowered at him. He stepped up so that their faces were inches apart.  
“I like fucking you. That’s it. I could give a shit about anything else, understand?”  
Billy blinked. “If that were true, you’d be seeing other people.”  
Flint didn’t respond so Billy went on. “I know you feel something else. You’ve already said you haven’t been with anyone else and neither have I. I can see it—how you force yourself to hold back, to keep something from me—“  
“Get the fuck out, Billy.”  
Billy clenched his jaw, feeling the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He was determined this was going to get resolved here and now. He slammed his palm down on a table, letter underneath it.  
“Not until you promise to read it.”  
Flint glared at him, chest heaving. Billy figured he was going to get punched soon.  
“Get out or I will throw you out.”  
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Any excuse to use your fist,” Billy challenged him. Though he in fact stood taller than the captain they were nearly equaled in strength, a fact he knew Flint was aware of. Perhaps it was out of that respect Flint hadn’t hit him yet.  
“Just answer me one question,” said Billy.  
“What?”  
“How do you do it?”  
Flint’s eye twitched. “Do what?”  
“Cut yourself off. From feeling. The sea hardens all men. I know that. You know that. We learn to pretend, to act as though we’re invincible. But you…”  
He trailed off, suddenly not sure how to put into words his captain’s seemingly desperate struggle to appear to be the monster everyone thought him to be. Flint’s gaze was almost curious.  
“Well go on and be done with it,” he snapped.  
Billy knew he was going to get punched. He looked at the floor, closing his eyes. When he looked back up he found his voice again and said softly, “I care about you, but it’s like you’re dead inside.”  
Flint blinked and turned away and in the instant he did Billy saw something raw flicker across the other’s man, something raw and unwelcome, like his words had hit something very fragile. Flint turned and nailed Billy square in the jaw. Billy’s head was jerked sideways be he knew the captain hadn’t put his full force behind the hit. Having remained inside Flint’s house this long Billy decided to further push his luck. With a wary glance at Flint’s balled-up fist Billy walked up to him until their faces were nearly touching. Flint leaned his head back but too late. Billy captured his lips with his own, gently pushing his tongue inside Flint’s mouth. Flint didn’t resist, a moan escaping his throat before he broke the contact and shoved Billy away.  
“Don’t.”  
Billy ignored the warning, his emotions getting the better of him. At least he would know he tried. Now, it seemed Flint would abandon him for good so he fell back on the only sure thing he had. He moved in again, grabbing Flint’s upper arms and kissing him again, this time thrust his hips into Flint’s so Flint felt his half-hard cock. Something akin to a whimper came from Flint. It turned into a growl as he vehemently shoved Billy back, sending him toppling into a chair. Billy caught himself and lunged at Flint, his anger instantly at the surface. He grabbed fistfuls of Flint’s shirt. Flint fought against him. Billy gritted his teeth and managed a punch to Flint’s gut. The pirate captain doubled over, charging into Billy and tackling him with both arms. Billy let out a cry as they hit the floor, Flint flattening him bosun’s body to the floor, a hand coming up to wrap around his neck. He didn’t squeeze hard enough to cut off Billy’s air so he managed to choke out, “Is this what you want?”  
Flint was looking down at him like so many men he’d killed before taking over their ship before the rage gradually subsided and his eyes suddenly looked sad. Finally Flint let go of him and reeled backwards. Billy sat up, rubbing his throat.  
“Just leave,” Flint said in a raw voice that shocked his bosun. “Please. Just leave. I’m sorry.”  
Billy climbed to his feet and slowly made his way to the door. Before he left he looked over his shoulder.  
“Read the letter.”

James pulled open the drawer that held an opium pipe in it. He had purchased it after losing Miranda and discovering that living in an empty house was more depressing than what he’d thought it would be. Typically he wouldn’t add drinking to smoking; since becoming an outlaw and a pirate he’d seen men lose their wits completely with such a mixture but now he didn’t care. He wanted to be numb, to strengthen the shield around his heart that Billy Bones had just come so close to shattering. His heart had been split ten years ago and then again just a few weeks ago. And now Billy’s visit threatened to split it thrice into and James didn’t know if he could take it.  
He loaded the pipe and grabbed a rum bottle, taking both outside to the porch where he propped himself up against the side of the house in the dark. He didn’t need to worry about the curious neighbors Miranda was always telling him about anymore. After their initial curiosity surrounding Miranda’s death and his solitary existence there they’d grown weary of his aloof attitude and left him alone. Alone to sit on the porch and bury his demons the only way he knew how.  
He startled some time later when a gunshot cracked and echoed too close for comfort. James raised his head. He was fucked up but not that fucked up, at least not yet.  
He dragged himself to his feet. It was the middle of the night so no reason anyone should be shooting this far inland this late. With no places to drink or whore or gamble in the gunshot was even more suspicious to James, who was desperate for something to distract him. He stumbled off the porch and towards the direction the shot had come from (he hoped), clutching the rum bottle to his chest. Though blurry-eyed he knew without a doubt that the figure he came upon through the leafy vegetation was Charles Vane, his dreadlocked hair and long thin nose visible in the moonlight. He relaxed and took his hand off the hilt of his sword when he recognized the other pirate captain. James squinted through the gloom to see Vane had a rifle in one hand and a dead pig at his feet. James leaned an arm against a tree, steadying himself.  
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.  
Vane raised his eyebrows, blue eyes taking in the other man’s appearance.  
“Could ask you the same. I was told a group of wild pigs frequented this area. They can’t see for shit, so night seemed like the best time to bring one down,” he replied. “Didn’t mean to disturb anyone, although I’d say you weren’t exactly sleeping,” he added, motioning to the rum bottle. James shrugged and raised it to his lips. Vane smirked.  
“You must have been in quite a mood. Loose a prize?” he asked.  
“No. Fucking relationships,” James replied. He grinned, which turned into a toothy smile and then laughter.  
“Can’t help you there mate,” said Vane, turning his attention to the dead pig. He pulled out a knife and squatted down beside it. “I’m probably the last person to give advice about fucking women.”  
James ignored the mistaken gender usage as he normally did. He watched vane light a lantern and get to work on gutting his very large prize.  
“You can’t possibly see to gut that. You’ll be here ‘till morning,” James drawled out.  
Vane looked up at him and tossed a second hunting knife at his feet. “Well then, get your drunk ass over here and help.”  
James snorted, looking down at the knife.  
“You know I don’t work for free.”  
“A piece of thigh, then.”  
“A leg,” James said flatly.  
“Only if you manage to cut properly without fucking it up.”  
James frowned at him before taking up the knife and flopping down ungracefully beside Vane. They cut until they had finished and James leaned back against a tree trunk, feeling a slight more sober, though the opium was still working on him.  
“Impressive,” said Vane, cleaning off his knife. “Bloody slow as hell, but you managed.”  
James kicked out his leg, boot thumping against the pig’s left back leg.  
“This one.”  
Vane nodded and James took his own piece of the prize. Then he sat back down, head in his hands. He expected the other pirate captain to take his pig and leave unceremoniously but Vane lingered, lighting one of his cigars and cleaning the blood off his hands.  
“Relationships, is it?” he ventured.  
James raised his head. Vane was studying the jungle around them, boot kicking away the remains of the pig’s guts and seemingly disinterested in his own question. Then he sat down across from James and took a drag off the cigar, its smoky tendrils reaching James’s nose.  
“I had an arrangement with someone,” James started off hesitantly. “We would just spend our time together when we needed it and that was it. It worked for a time, then they had to fuck it up.”  
He took another drink. The rum was nearly gone. He held out what was left to vane, who accepted.  
“Don’t think you can keep that kind of an accord for long,” he replied. “There’s always attachments.”  
“There shouldn’t have been. I didn’t change. They did.”  
“Guessing they wanted more out of it. It’s natural, I suppose.”  
“It shouldn’t be, not all the time. Keep it simple, no fucking attachments, no strings. No risk.”  
Vane looked at him through his brows. “No risk means no chance of ever falling for someone, least in my experience. Why deny yourself that?”  
James scoffed, sea green eyes meeting Vane’s.  
“Please. You of all people know why. After what you went through with Eleanor…”  
“Careful, Flint. Tread lightly when you don’t know your footing.”  
“You’ve just proven my point.”  
Vane sighed and looked away. A light breeze blew around them and the moonlight had found them again through the tree tops. Vane stared at it before returning his gaze to James.  
“Eleanor and I have been to hell and back and to hell again. If I ever see her again I don’t expect that to change much. But when the time counts, truly counts, she’s always been there for me, and I her. This last time things got too fucked up with the politics of this place. Even so I’d rather die tomorrow than never know her touch again. If you ask me—and I know you’re not—I’d say the risk is worth the reward. We’re supposed to be free men out here. What’s the point if we force ourselves into cages of our own making?”  
He took another hit from his cigarette, looking as disinterested as he had earlier, though they both knew the effort and meaning Vane had put into his words.  
Vane tied up his pig and turned to leave.  
“Charles.”  
Vane stopped and faced him. James couldn’t manage a ‘thank you,’ at least not in this lifetime, so instead he just met Vane’s gaze, green eyes somber, and nodded. Vane returned the gesture and took his leave.

Three days later Billy spotted Flint in the midst of the busy mid-day market crowd as he stood in front of a merchant, buying a new pair of boots. He froze, part of him wanting to run and another part cursing himself for thinking like a coward. Flint had seen him and was coming towards him. Billy finished his transaction with the merchant and stepped away, watching as Flint made his way through the clusters of Nassau’s citizens and pirates. He nodded at Billy, face a mask and suddenly everything felt awkward.  
“A tough pair of boots,” remarked Flint, nodding at the items in Billy’s hand. Billy found himself short of patience.  
“What do you want?” he snapped. He was not the least bit afraid or intimidated but scorned instead.  
“Just to talk,” Flint answered calmly. “No fists. Can we go back to the house?”  
Flint was actually asking him, and asking nicely. Billy eyed him, trying to decipher his mood but his captain was a master at hiding it in public. It drove Billy crazy.  
“Why should I?” he asked.  
Flint let out a breath and dug into a small pouch hanging at his belt.  
“Here then.”  
He pulled out a necklace and dangled it in front of the bosun. The rope was sun-dried, hardened leather like most of Billy’s necklaces that hung around his neck. This one, however, was exceptional to him. In the center hung a large shiny bead, flanked on both sides by three other items: two shark teeth, two intricately patterned shells, and two pieces of sand dollar. When Billy hesitantly took the necklace he saw the black bead in the center was in fact a black pearl. The overall design was beautiful.  
“At least take this,” said Flint.  
“Is this an apology?” Billy asked, not unkindly.  
“I was hoping it could be more than that.”  
For an impossibly long time Billy considered this. He enjoyed watching the other man squirm uncomfortably as he did so. Despite everything Billy admitted to himself that the gift had moved him; Flint had known exactly what he would appreciate.  
“It’s beautiful,” he conceded at last.  
Flint looked around them, eyes growing nervous. Neither one of them needed the attention of lookers-on wondering why two men were exchanging gifts to one another.  
“Come on. I want to show you something,” he said.

Billy studied the painting. It was a double portrait, framed in gold, real gold from the looks of it. Billy easily recognized Miranda Barlow, though her dress was much fancier than what he’d ever seen her wear. The man standing beside her he did not recognize, though the red paint at the bottom of the painting said ‘MR. AND MRS. THOMAS HAMILTON.’  
They stood in the corner of the kitchen, next to a bookcase lined with books, which didn’t surprise Billy. The painting, however, was something else. He looked from it to Flint and back again.  
“Miranda Barlow? Married to him?”  
Flint nodded, standing beside the bookcase while Billy studied the painting from a chair.  
“Barlow was her maiden name. Something necessary when we first arrived here, just in case. I changed my name as well. The painting was before I had met either of them. What I’m going to tell you, well, it may sound farfetched but it’s all true.”  
Billy watched his captain closely. Flint’s tone had become unbelievably soft, his eyes distant as he gazed at the painting. For some reason he remained silent until Billy asked the inevitable question.  
“What happened?”  
Flint sighed. It was long and slow and sounded sorrowful to Billy. He turned in his chair so that he was facing Flint, who seemed unwilling to answer Billy’s question, yet after another moment he did so.  
“I was a lieutenant in the royal navy then. My last name was…is McGraw. Thomas wanted very much to change this place, Nassau. He wanted to rid it of pirates and make it what it was always intended to be…a British colony. I was to help him do it. He was so enthusiastic about it, so full of hope, but also determined. His enthusiasm wore on me after a while, even though I remained for the longest time convinced that his plan to pardon the pirates here would never work. Still, he was determined, just as determined as he was to have me as his partner. I was a different man then, Billy.”  
Flint paused, eyes drifting from the portrait to his bosun. They remained soft and filled with so much sadness Billy felt it was a well he might fall into. His heart was pounding in his chest. Whatever Flint was getting ready to tell him, it was something of enormous weight. He wanted badly to comfort him right then, before he went on, to throw his arms around Flint’s strong and muscular arms, to kiss his neck. Billy swallowed and waited patiently. Flint sighed again. Whatever this confession was, it had clearly taken a toll on the other man.  
“Anyway,” Flint said, “He had me convinced that as long as we could sell it to his father who was Lord Proprietor over New Providence at the time, that we could pull it off; pardon the majority of the pirates so as to convince them to give up their pirating and allow the island to flourish under colonial rule again. But Lord Alfred Hamilton wouldn’t even listen. He berated Thomas, insulted Miranda, was cold as ice.”  
Flint was clenching his jaw together and Billy recognized the anger he saw in his face.  
“I did something foolish then, something stupid,” he continued. “I insulted him, told him to leave his own house. That was the beginning of the end. To shorten the tale, suffice it to say Lord Alfred found a way to punish all three of us with a single stroke. He sent Thomas to an asylum and forced Miranda and I, as his…accomplices…out of the country.”  
Flint walked away from the bookcase and paced slowly in the kitchen. Billy couldn’t read his face.  
“But how on earth could this Lord Alfred banish you? You said you were in the navy? And why send his son to such a place?”  
Billy trailed off, not understanding. Flint wouldn’t look directly at him, instead focusing on the mantel piece across the room. Billy watched, astonished, as tears filled his eyes.  
“Captain…” he said quietly. Flint wiped at his eyes with a quick flick of his wrist and swallowed hard. He took another breath.  
“Lord Alfred had exactly what he needed to do such a thing,” he continued. “Thomas and I…we became careless. We should have been more careful, shouldn’t have let the politics of it all get to us. Miranda warned him, warned both of us. We should have been more careful.”  
Billy slowly rose out of the chair when it dawned on him exactly what Flint was talking about, astonished. Flint finally looked at him, no longer able to keep the mask in place. It had slipped, revealing pain and sorrow and a tenderness that startled the bosun.  
“You and Thomas were lovers,” said Billy carefully. “Miranda knew. And his father found out.”  
Flint gave a nearly imperceptible nod before his eyes fell again on the portrait. Billy knew beyond a doubt then; the look in Flint’s eyes told the unspoken part of the story, that he had loved Thomas Hamilton, must have loved him immensely to justify the emotion Billy saw in Flint now.  
Flint glanced up at him, some of his composure returning. “The story you heard about my actions on board the Maria Aleyne were true. The man I killed was the earl.”  
Billy swallowed, his mind spinning. He had spent nearly two years thinking that his captain’s selfish deeds were motivated by either greed or Ms. Barlow’s greed, that his selfishness had to be devious as well. Now, as he was forced to re-align everything he thought he knew about Flint one thing became clear at last. He spoke it out loud.  
“So, your ugly secret is finally revealed.”  
Flint looked at him, gray-green eyes almost frightened. Billy walked up to him, his fear of the man before him muted.  
“You’re a man after all,” he said quietly, not intending the words to be a barb. To this end he quickly reached out and touched Flint’s jaw with his thumb, his cheek with his fingers before Flint could reply. It was as though the man standing before him was new and Billy needed confirmation that he was still the same flesh and blood, the same essence as the man he’d known these past few years.  
Flint gently caught his hand and pushed it down.  
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “What Thomas and I had, it’s something I could never afford to have in this place. Free men or not, it’s too dangerous.”  
For the first time since he’d arrived at Flint’s house Billy was now truly baffled, and he didn’t like being confused.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Can’t you understand, Billy? There’s plenty of men coupling with men in a crew, but to go beyond that, to have anything resembling a true relationship…it would be just as dangerous as it would be in any major city, any civilized part of the world. Besides, I don’t know if I can risk that for myself. Again.”  
He looked at Billy with the old determination in his eyes, the old unshakeable ferocity Billy had come so familiar with. This time, however—perhaps for the first time—Billy saw through it.  
“Did it work?” he asked, looked at Flint with a critical eye now. “Convince yourself of that lie, did you?”  
Instead of stoking Flint’s ire this time the pirate captain huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes.  
“Billy—“  
“No. I’ve heard your story. Now you listen to me.”  
Both of them seemed surprised with the commanding tone Billy’s words had taken on. Billy realized with a start that this was the first time he had ever spoken to his captain as something besides a subordinate or a suspicious crew member. Even when they were coupled together Flint dominated their encounters. Now, Billy shed off that layer of their relationship. He walked over to the sofa and leaned against it, facing Flint whose gaze still wondered to the mantel piece. Billy waited until Flint found his patience again and focused on him instead.  
“I know what it’s like to be among the men. You don’t because you purposefully cut yourself off from them, so I know that they wouldn’t care who you were with and that’s not your real concern anyway. You’re scared. Fine. So am I. So what?”  
Billy shrugged, throwing away that concern with an abruptness that startled Flint.  
“You called us free men. Well, why the fuck not? You’ve more or less said that what you’ve been doing here, for this place, is because of Thomas Hamilton. He’s gone, and now Ms. Barlow—Miranda—is gone as well. That doesn’t mean you quit, that you stop trying.”  
Flint narrowed his eyes. “Are we still talking about Nassau? Be plain, Billy, because mixing love with politics is what got me in this mess in the first place.”  
There was a sting to his words, and Billy realized he’d spoken his own words that way because he wasn’t certain which he was referring to either. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.  
“I didn’t mean to sound confusing.”  
Billy fell silent and simply gazed at the captain until Flint squirmed again. Finally, Billy pushed himself off the sofa and approached him again. Flint’s eyes followed his, one eyebrow raised.  
Fuck Nassau,” said Billy. “Fuck New Providence. Fuck the gold, fuck everything. Is that really what you need to make you happy, captain?”  
Flint stared up at him, eyes darting back and forth in earnest as he thought. Billy tried not to hold his breath. The captain knew exactly what he had meant. Now his response would settle this once and for all.  
“Don’t call me captain. And don’t call me Flint.”  
Flint’s hand came up and wrapped around the back of Billy’s neck, pulling his face down until Billy’s lips found the other man’s and Flint was kissing him passionately. Billy felt it all the way down his stomach and into his groin. His lips desperately danced with the captain’s, tongue lashing out eagerly into the captain’s mouth until he forced himself to pull away, just enough to whisper, “James.”  
The way the name rolled off his tongue sent another sexual chill through Billy. He saw a newly kindled fire in those sea green eyes, something he’d never imagined could have existed there. It was passion, it was lust, it was caring. It was a look full of life. Flint kissed him again, his hands on either side of his bosun’s face and forcing their lips to meet again. Billy moaned and pushed his hips into James once again and this time James responded in kind, his own erection quickly becoming full and hard and pressing up against Billy. They made their way to the bed, groping and grappling at each other. Billy figured they were acting like horny adolescents and the thought made him grin; a small ‘huh’ escaping him. Flint stopped his machinations and looked at him, grin of his own appearing under his ginger beard.  
“What?”  
Billy beamed at him. “Mmm. Nothing.”  
They found the bed and Flint pushed them onto it, but after that he let Billy become dominant, so much so that for the first time, Billy found himself with James underneath him as Billy slid inside him. Being able to watch James’s face as he did so was priceless to him. His sea green eyes closed momentarily as he moaned deep in his throat. Billy leaned down so that their breath mingled together, lips parted, as Billy thrust into him. Whether it was this new intimacy or James simply opening himself up fully to Billy, the bosun wasn’t certain, but either way it was making a hot mess out of his captain. As Billy worked up a steady rhythm James didn’t hold back, half-lidded eyes catching Billy’s and showing pure want, pure need there. To be needed, that was something new between them. Billy loved it. He was also on the edge, and when the moment came, it was pure ecstasy. He came inside James, muscles jerking. James roughly pulled his head down and captured his lips once more, his own hips bucking upward to meet the last of Billy’s thrusts. Then Billy grabbed a hold of James’s cock and jerked it quick and fast. Within moments James also came. Billy hovered over him panting heavily. He looked into his captain’s eyes again. There were words he longed to hear him speak in that moment but he knew it would not happen. Instead James gave him a pat on his arm and Billy rolled away and lay down next to him. They caught their breath and James cleaned himself off. He didn’t get up but remained, one hand coming up to touch Billy’s chest, fingers tracing circles over his nipples, his rock-hard abs and along his ribs. Billy basked in this touch for a long time until his brain stated functioning properly again. Then he was compelled to rise and leave the bed. James sat up, alarmed.  
“Where are you going?”  
“Be right back.”  
Billy returned a moment later, carrying the painting of the Hamiltons with him. He propped it up on the dresser across from the bed and rejoined James. James was sitting up, still nude, and looking at Billy as though he were half-crazed. Billy said nothing until he made James scoot up so that he could lean back on the headboard behind him, coaxing James to lay back over him.  
“I’m afraid you’ll decide to forget,” he said at last as they regarded the painting. “It’s clear to me now how much they meant to you, both of them. If this is all you have of them, of that time, then we should honor that, not forget it.” Then after a tiny pause he added, “You can punch me again if you like.”  
James was stretched out before him, shoulders resting against Billy’s chest and head on Billy’s shoulder.  
“It’s been a long time since anyone has surprised me,” James replied. He hadn’t moved, though his left hand moved along Billy’s leg tenderly. Billy craned his neck to see the expression on James’s face. Those sea green eyes were like warm liquid, and that quelled the longing Billy felt, if just for the moment; the longing to have James tell him he loved him, that he was loved and need to be loved. Perhaps that day would never arrive, Billy knew, but the look in his captain’s eyes just now gave him hope for it, the same hope Billy now saw in those eyes as well. And that was also something new.***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to billybonesflint for the tumblr post!


End file.
